I Will Survive
by TwiLyght Sans Sparkles
Summary: A boy and his uncle say goodbye...and more besides. Crackfic.
1. I Will Survive

Rodolphus Lestrange watched his nephew from the opposite end of the table and wiped his sweating palms on his robes. The Dark Lord rambled on about Harry Potter and who needed to kill him, but Rodolphus only half-listened. The only consolation he found was that Draco—head up, eyes averted—seemed just as nervous as he was. Briefly he considered giving the boy a reassuring smile, but he had none to give.

"This has to happen," Severus had told him days before.

"Must it happen this way?"

"Draco won't participate any other way." Severus turned those dark eyes on him. "You care about your nephew, don't you?"

Of all the questions in the world, he had to ask that one. They both knew the answer.

Now, Rodolphus watched the boy in question, letting the plan run through his mind once more. _The Dark Lord will make a mistake, _Severus had said. _He'll say something too obvious to be anything but a cue. _

The only question was, would he do it?

A sharp gasp brought Rodolphus out of his reverie. Bellatrix had her head in her hands and stared at the Dark Lord with a look of shock.

"Will you babysit the cubs, Draco?"

Rodolphus jolted. An insult too juicy to pass up. That was Draco's cue.

Draco was silent for a long moment, head bowed, blond hair spilling over his eyes. The fire crackled, and Charity Burbage made another sickening turn.

Then, when Rodolphus thought his nephew would cave, he raised his head. "At first, I was afraid."

The Dark Lord blinked. "Afraid of what, Draco?"

"I was petrified."

A series of nervous laughs flitted around the table at the sudden confession, but quickly died as Draco got to his feet. Rodolphus' pride soared as his nephew stepped from the floor to his chair to the table—and began to sing. Music poured into the room from an undisclosed source.

_Kept thinkin' I could never live with you here by my side  
>But then I spent so many nights thinkin' how you did me wrong<br>And I grew strong  
>And I learned how to get along<em>

The Dark Lord drew back as Draco strode across the table, crimson eyes wide. He seemed to relax a bit when the boy turned on his heel halfway down and marched in the other direction.

_Because you're back  
>From outer space<br>I just walked in and found you here with that sad look upon your face  
>I should've changed that stupid lock<br>I should've made you leave your key  
>If I'd've known for just one second you'd be back to bother me<em>

Now he turned again, making his way back toward the Dark Lord, gesturing angrily at the door as he came.

_Go on, now, go  
>Walk out the door<br>Just turn around now  
>'Cause you're not welcome anymore<br>Weren't you the one who tried to hurt me with goodbye?  
>You think I'd crumble?<br>You think I'd lay down and die?_

Draco drew himself up proudly, almost hitting his head on Charity Burbage.

_Oh, no, not I!  
>I will survive!<br>Oh, as long as I know how to love I know I'll stay alive  
>I've got all my life to live<br>I've got all my love to give  
>And I'll survive!<br>I will survive!  
>Hey, hey<em>

The Dark Lord blinked. This was a challenge, a direct refusal of his authority—and all he seemed able to do was stare as his youngest charge turned the mahogany table into a one-man dance floor. Perhaps it was the style that unnerved him. Severus said disco unnerved a lot of people.

Bolstered by his nephew's performance, Rodolphus leapt onto the table as the musical interlude drew to an end. He put a fist to his heart and addressed the Dark Lord.

_It took all the strength I had not to fall apart  
>Kept tryin' hard to mend the pieces of my broken heart<br>And I spent oh so many nights just feelin' sorry for myself  
>I used to cry<br>But now I hold my head up high_

The words had been written by a Muggle and sung by a Muggle, but they seemed penned especially for him. His indignation swelled with the music; he marched to the other end of the table and sang to his wife.

_And you see me  
>Somebody new<br>I'm not that chained-up little person still in love with you  
>And so you felt like droppin' in and just expect me to be free<br>But now I'm savin' all my lovin' for someone who's lovin' me!_

Rodolphus savored her look of shock. He drank in her dismay and let her buried fear carry him to the other end of the table, where he once again addressed his master.

_Go on, now, go  
>Walk out the door<br>Just turn around now  
>'Cause you're not welcome anymore<br>Weren't you the one who tried to break me with goodbye?  
>You think I'd crumble?<br>You think I'd lay down and die?_

Draco's eyes shone, and he was smiling now. Rodolphus winked, banished Charity Burbage to the floor with a flick of his wand, and met his nephew in the middle of the table.

_Oh, no, not I!  
>I will survive!<br>Oh, as long as I know how to love I know I'll stay alive  
>I've got all my life to live<br>I've got all my love to give  
>And I'll survive!<br>I will survive!_

The music had increased in volume, so much so that the Dark Lord's command was nearly inaudible. Rodolphus still made out two words: "Kill them!"

Draco's look of fear lasted only a moment—the amount of time it took for Rodolphus to disarm everyone in the room. His spell travelled in a wave, wands flying from hands with shouts of surprise, conveniently skipping Severus. The Dark Lord was the last to lose his wand, and he searched frantically for it as the boy and his uncle came toward him, wands at the ready, singing together.

_Oh  
><em>_Go on, now, go!  
><em>_Walk out the door!  
><em>_Just turn around now  
><em>_'Cause you're not welcome anymore!  
><em>_Weren't you the one who tried to break me with goodbye?  
><em>_You think I'd crumble?  
><em>_You think I'd lay down and die?_

The Dark Lord could no longer mask his fear. Two traitors, both armed, one of them the husband of Bellatrix Lestrange; the faithful disarmed, the music swelling to a crescendo—he backed against the wall, knocking over his chair in the process.

_Oh, no, not I!  
>I will survive!<br>Oh, as long as I know how to love I know I'll stay alive  
>I've got all my life to live<br>I've got all my love to give  
>And I'll survive!<br>I will survive!  
>I will survive!<em>

Rodolphus held out the last note as the music faded into the darkness.

"_Avada Kedavra." _

Severus said the words matter-of-factly, the green light hitting the Dark Lord square in the chest. Silence fell over the drawing room, unbroken but for an occasional cough from Charity Burbage. Draco grinned, pointing his wand at the unseen front door.

"And...cue the Order."

The Order poured through the door, wands held high, shouting fierce war cries. Severus climbed onto the table, joining Draco and Rodolphus on their little island. Together they watched the sea of chaos rage around them.

"Rodolphus?"

Rodolphus looked at his nephew. The boy's smile hadn't faded; he had the feeling it wouldn't for quite some time. "Yes, Draco?"

"You're the coolest uncle ever."


	2. Bohemian Rhapsody

_I had a few more ideas for musical crackfic goodness, so I decided to continue this story for another few chapters. Hope you don't mind. _

* * *

><p>There had to be a hearing.<p>

"Never mind we single-handedly prevented a bloody takeover of the Ministry," Rodolphus complained some time later. "Oh, no. No one cares we were the ones who stopped the Dark Lord's rise. None of that matters to dear old Scrimgeour, does it?"

"Evidently not." Severus flicked a few pages forward in his magazine. The rustling pages grated on Rodolphus' nerves.

"_Would you stop that_?"

Severus raised his head. "Well, considering this may be the last magazine I read as a free man, the answer is, quite frankly, no." He turned the page, giving it an extra shake as he did.

Rodolphus sighed, pacing the floor. "There's got to be some way out of this."

For a long moment, neither spoke. Severus turned another page. And another. And another. Huffing, Rodolphus stormed over and tore the magazine from his grasp.

"You figured out how to kill the Dark Lord, Severus. Figure this one out."

"I already told you. We throw ourselves at the mercy of the court."

"The court won't have any mercy."

Sighing, Severus rolled his eyes. "Oh, all right," he said after a moment. "Have you ever heard of Queen?"

* * *

><p>It was a hearing, not a trial, Scrimgeour had said. Until Rodolphus reached the courtroom, he couldn't see the difference. But now that the time had come, he already appreciated the distinction.<p>

"It'll be all right," he reassured his nephew for the fortieth time. "This will work."

"And if it doesn't?"

Curiously, Draco hadn't yet asked that question. Rodolphus pondered his answer for a moment. "If it doesn't work," he said quietly, "there are ways to survive Azkaban."

"Like?"

"Focus on a thought. Nothing happy. It has to be awful, something so sick, so horrifying and twisted, the dementors won't want it."

"What did you focus on?"

Rodolphus hesitated. In Azkaban, the thought had sustained him; now, in daylight, revisiting it was like opening a tomb. "The Dark Lord," he said, avoiding Draco's gaze. "I pictured him, wearing those dark robes he always wears. Then, slowly, he slips them over his head and lets them fall to the floor. He smiles seductively-"

Draco cupped his hands over his ears. "Stop it! Stop it! Make it stop!" After a minute, he looked up, his face white with horror. "My God! Where do you come up with this stuff?"

A few days later, he, Severus and Draco were escorted to the courtroom. This time, the guards were all human. Not a dementor in sight. The courtroom, too, was different; the walls were a nauseating shade of yellow, the benches were of polished wood, and big-eyed kittens mewed from their frames on the walls. Rodolphus grimaced.

"This must be where they take the crazies," he remarked to Draco in a whisper.

"It's better than the Veil, at least."

Rodolphus shuddered. "I'd take the Veil any day."

The guards marched them to the front, stopping at a row of three wooden chairs. Rodolphus felt a surge of anger at the sight of them, but when he sat, the chains merely twitched and then lay still. Draco watched them until Rufus Scrimgeour cleared his throat, drawing his attention forward.

Up on the judges' balcony, Arthur Weasley shuffled a few papers. "Rodolphus Lestrange. Severus Snape. Draco Malfoy. You have been called here today to testify about your involvement with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and especially your contribution to the successful assassination plot that ended the war.

"We would also like to hear about your involvement with the equally successful assassination of Albus Dumbledore," Kingsley Shacklebolt added, and Draco looked away. "What have you to say?"

Rodolphus and Severus locked gazes; Severus lifted an eyebrow. _Shall we? _

Rodolphus gave a quick, jerky tilt of the head. _Of course we shall, you moron!_

Severus glared, nudged Draco in the ribs, and drew a breath. As one, they began to sing. 

_Is this the real life?Is this just fantasy?  
>Caught in a landslide<br>No escape from reality  
>Open your eyes<br>Look up to the skies and see  
>I'm just a poor boy (poor boy), I need no sympathy<em>

Scrimgeour's gavel pounded the table. "Objection! Misters Lestrange and Malfoy are far from poor!"

Arthur pounded his own gavel. "Overruled."

"You can't overrule me! I'm the Minister!"

Kingsley pounded his gavel as well. "Two against one. You're overruled, Mister Minister."

_Because I'm easy come, easy go  
>Little high, little low<br>Any way the wind blows, doesn't really matter to me  
><em>_To me_

Severus stood as slow, mournful piano notes flooded into the room.

_Mama, I just killed a man_  
><em>Put a gun against his head<em>  
><em>Pulled my trigger, now he's dead<em>  
><em>Mama, life had just begun<em>  
><em>But now I've gone and thrown it all away<em>

Now Draco stood. He looked out into the stands, found where his mother was, and sang.

_Mama, oooh  
>Didn't mean to make you cry<em>  
><em>If I'm not back again this time tomorrow<em>  
><em>Carry on, carry on, as if nothing really matters <em>

Even from where Rodolphus sat, he saw Arthur's eyes soften. He squashed a smile as Draco and Severus joined their voices.

_It's too late, my time has come_  
><em>Sends shivers down my spine<em>  
><em>Body's aching all the time<em>  
><em>Goodbye everybody - I've got to go<em>  
><em>Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth<em>  
><em>Mama, ooo - (anyway the wind blows)<em>  
><em>I don't want to die<em>  
><em>I sometimes wish I'd never been born at all<em>

Rodolphus glanced into the audience. Too late, he realized his mistake: Narcissa had tears in her eyes. He stared at her through the entire guitar solo, nearly missing his cue.

_I see a little silhouetto of a man_

He sang the line, then leapt to his feet. Only Draco and Severus seemed to notice his ill timing.

_Scaramouche, scaramouche, will you do the fandango?_  
><em>Thunderbolts and lightning - very very frightening me<em>  
><em>Galileo, Galileo,<em>  
><em>Galileo, Galileo,<em>  
><em>Galileo Figaro - magnifico-o-o-<em>

Draco sang the next line.

_I'm just a poor boy nobody loves me_

Then Rodolphus, directing his plea to the judges:

_He's just a poor boy from a poor family_  
><em>Spare him his life from this monstrosity<em>

Draco sang next:

_Easy come easy go - will you let me go?_

Scrimgeour pounded his gavel, unwititngly speaking the next line of hte song.

_It's the LAW! No - we will not let you go _

Perfect timing, Rodolphus thought.

_Let him go  
><em>_It's the LAW! We will not let you go  
><em>_Let him go_

Rodolphus was surprised to hear Arthur and Kingsley sing "Let him go," but not displeased. Two of the judges, at least, were softening. He smiled at his nephew.

_It's the LAW! We will not let you go  
>Let me go<em>  
><em>Will not let you go<br>Let me go (never)_  
><em>Never let you go<br>Let me go_  
><em>Never let me go - ooo<em>  
><em>No, no, no, no, no, no, no -<em>  
><em>Oh mama mia, mama mia, mama mia let me go<em>  
><em>Beelzebub has the devil put aside for me<em>  
><em>for me<em>  
><em>for me<em>  
><em>for me<em>

Arthur and Kingsley argued with Scrimgeour throughout the guitar riff. Severus' voice seemed to catch them by surprise.

_So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye?_

When Draco sang, his voice seemed stronger than it had before.

_So you think you can love me and leave me to die?_

Severus put a palm to his forehead- not necessary, but a nice touch, Rodolphus thought.

_Oh baby - can't do this to me baby_

Draco glanced at the exit- also a nice touch.

_Just gotta get out - just gotta get right outta here_

The next argument between the judges lasted through the rest of the guitar solo and most of the last verse, ending only when Scrimgeour threw his gavel down and stormed out of the courtroom. Rodolphus could barely contain his glee, but put on his most pathetic puppy-dog eyes as he joined with Draco and Severus in perfect harmony.

_Ooh yeah, ooh yeah_  
><em>Nothing really matters<em>  
><em>Anyone can see<em>  
><em>Nothing really matters, nothing really matters, to me<em>  
><em>Anyway the wind blows...<em>

Silence hung in the courtroom long after the last notes faded. A few audience members, Narcissa among them, sniffed quietly. When Arthur pounded his gavel, nearly everyone jumped.

"Since the Minister of Magic has entrusted this decision to my colleague and I," he said, a smile spreading across his face, "we hereby acquit the accused of all charges. You're free to go."


	3. Wannabe

Hermione Granger found July and August surprising, to say the least.

First, Voldemort's death. Not that his defeat in and of itself was surprising; she had always known, in the back of her mind, that Lord Voldemort would not survive much longer. Oh, sure, it had seemed for a time that he would conquer the Ministry, rule Britain with an iron fist, and—when he was good and ready—bring the rest of the world under his thumb. But she had never doubted his eventual defeat. The world may not be just, but it never allowed such wicked men to survive for very long. The way Voldemort died was more surprising than the fact that he did.

It didn't take much time for rumors to escape the confines of Malfoy Manor and circulate throughout the wizarding community. Harry and Ron could scarcely believe it when they heard.

"No. It didn't happen."

"It says so right here in the paper." Hermione turned the article around so Ron could read. "See? 'Disco Deadly for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.'"

Harry skimmed the article and drew back, shaking his head. "The _Prophet_'s lied before, you know. See?" He pointed to the byline. "Rita Skeeter. This wouldn't be the first time she's made something up."

"Why would she lie about this? You'd think she'd at least lie about something less ridiculous!"

Ron sighed. "Face it, Hermione. The _Prophet_'s lying. There is just no way Malfoy would stand up in front of You-Know-Who and sing a song by Gloria Gaynor." He shrugged dismissively. "Or any other Muggle, for that matter."

As difficult as it was to wrap her mind around the facts, Hermione saw little choice. It was ridiculous, of course. Preposterous. Downright inconceivable. But she clung to her original logic: This was too weird to be a hoax. Had it been, the _Prophet_ would have seen the ruse for what it was at once. So she swallowed the fact—difficult as that was—and moved on. There were bigger mysteries to contemplate.

Malfoy's strange behavior, for one.

She had run into him more than once since Voldemort's death. He nearly collided with her in the Ministry, as he exited a courtroom and she passed by on her way to another.

"Oops! Sorry," he said, giving her an apologetic half-smile. Then, as though remembering the two men who accompanied him (Professor Snape and Rodolphus Lestrange, no less) had added, "Mudblood."

Malfoy ducked in and out of her routine for the next few weeks. He'd catch her eye in Diagon Alley, then look away as though he hadn't seen her. Or he'd see her walking toward a shop, dart ahead of her, and open the door at the same moment she happened to pass through, vanishing just when she looked up.

Today was one of those days.

She caught a glimpse of him as she strode purposefully toward the apothecary. True to form, he dashed across the road, nearly knocking an elderly man and several small children to the ground, and held the door for her. Just as he was about to pull his vanishing act, she put her hand over his. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

He shook his head, as though her question surprised him. "Want? What makes you think I want something?"

Hermione folded her arms. "Well, for one thing, you forgot the 'Mudblood.'"

"No I didn't."

"You didn't _say_ it; you must have forgotten."

"What makes you think I _wanted_ to say it?"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake! You've called me that since second year! And now you're following me around, holding doors and knocking pedestrians silly to get to me. _What_ in the name of all that is decent do you _want_?"

He hesitated, looking at the ground. A woman slipped past through the open door, glaring, but Malfoy didn't move, and Hermione held her ground. Finally, he met her gaze. "I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want."

She blinked. No. This was not happening. Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater and pure Slytherin, was _not_ about to sing. Not in public, anyway, and certainly nothing by the Spice Girls. Gloria Gaynor she could accept— and even Queen, if what Arthur said was true— but there was no way a Malfoy would be caught dead singing anything by the Spice Girls.

Still, there was no harm in testing it, was there?

Hermione lifted her chin. "So tell me what you want, what you really, really want."

"I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want."

A smile tugged at her mouth. She stepped inside the shop, away from incoming traffic. "So tell me what you want, what you really, really want."

Malfoy stepped inside as well. "I wanna..." He sighed as someone somewhere began playing a soundtrack, gave a little spin, and sang.

_If you want my future, forget my past_

Hermione smiled, arms still folded, and sang the next line.

_If you wanna get with me, better make it fast_

He lifted an eyebrow, shaking a finger at her.

_Now don't go wasting my precious time_

She rolled her eyes.

_Get your act together, we could be just fine_

For the briefest moment, his eyes lit up, and his voice seemed stronger as he sang the next line.

_I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want_

Hermione smiled.

_So tell me what you want, what you really really want_

_I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna  
>Really really really wanna zigga zig ahh <em>

She had never been sure what that last part meant, but coming from Malfoy, it sounded vaguely dirty. The next line, she thought, the next line should scare him off. Backing toward the far wall, she sang:

_If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends_  
><em>Make it last forever, friendship never ends<em>

There, she thought. No way he would get with _her_ friends; not when they happened to be Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. Emboldened, Hermione jabbed her finger at his chest to emphasize her next words.

_If you wanna be my lover, you have got to give_  
><em>Taking is too easy, but that's the way it is<em>

_What do you think about that? __Now you know how I feel_

Malfoy stepped forward, eyes wide in disbelief.

_Say you can handle my love, are you for real?_

She shrugged.

_I won't be hasty, I'll give you a try_  
><em>If you really bug me then I'll say goodbye<em>

_Yo I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want  
>So tell me what you want, what you really really want<em>  
><em>I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna<br>Really really really wanna zigga zig ahh_

Was she mistaken, or was that a sly little smile on his lips? Hermione hid behind the next chorus, singing a little louder than she'd intended: _  
><em>

_If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends_  
><em>Make it last forever, friendship never ends<em>  
><em>If you wanna be my lover, you have got to give<em>  
><em>Taking is too easy, but that's the way it is<em>

_So here's a story from A to Z, you wanna get with me_  
><em>You gotta listen carefully<em>  
><em>We got Em in the place who likes it in your face<em>  
><em>We got G like MC who likes it on an<em>  
><em>Easy V doesn't come for free, she's a real lady<em>

Wait— who _were_ these people?

_And as for me, ah, you'll see_

See what? From the way Malfoy was smiling, it couldn't be anything nice.

The next few lines sounded even worse:

_Slam your body down and wind it all around_  
><em>Slam your body down and wind it all around<em>

Hermione's eyes widened. "What? No way!"

Taking advantage of her shock, he jumped in with the next chorus. _  
><em>

_If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends_  
><em>Make it last forever, friendship never ends<em>

"I am _not_ getting with your friends, Malfoy."

_If you wanna be my lover, you have got to give_  
><em>Taking is too easy, but that's the way it is<em>

_If you wanna be my lover, you gotta, you gotta, you gotta_  
><em>You gotta, you gotta, slam, slam, slam, slam<em>

Fine, she thought. Two could play at this game. Stepping forward, she took the next line:

_Slam your body down and wind it all around_

Not to be outdone, he replied in the same vein.

_Slam your body down and wind it all around_

They sang the last lines together:

_Slam your body down and wind it all around_  
><em>Slam your body down zigazig ah<em>  
><em>If you wanna be my lover<em>

The music ended abruptly, with the two of them nose-to-nose. Malfoy grinned. "Well, Granger?"

Containing her smile as best she could, Hermione took a quill and a scrap of parchment from the counter. Scribbling an address on it, she shoved it into his palm. "Meet me here at seven. Dress Muggle." She turned to go, but stopped at the door. "Oh, and Malfoy?"

"Yes?"

"This is the last time I sing anything by the Spice Girls."

She left the shop to roaring laughter and thunderous applause.


	4. Good Riddance

_This chapter probably won't be as funny as the others, but it sets up a lot of stuff later on. _

* * *

><p>Courtroom Ten was just as dark as the day Harry had first seen it, the air just as cold. Massive stone benches rose up in columns on every side, broken only by the judges' balcony on one side and large double doors on the other. The dias rose from the floor, and from the dias the Veil. Neither appeared constructed by human hands; Harry wondered if both had been called up from the depths of the Earth by some long-ago warlock, and had simply refused to return.<p>

"Harry, are you sure you want to do this?"

Arthur's question startled him; he shook his head abruptly. "Hm? Yes...of course."

"We can leave, if you want."

"I don't want to leave. I- I have to do this." Heart pounding, Harry started toward the dias, feeling the chill grow with each step. A breeze ruffled his dark hair, the air stiff and musty-smelling, but he continued on his way. His shoes felt as though they had been filled with water as he climbed the steps, but it was no relief to sink to his knees. One thought filled his mind, and he whispered it to the cold.

"Sirius."

The name hung in the air, trembling like the boy who spoke it. Harry stared into the Veil, but the Veil itself gave no reply. And why should it? It had taken Sirius from him; it answered to no one. But Harry would have liked an explanation, instead of the whispers, too soft to discern.

And then, as though he intended to do it all along, Harry began to sing.

_Another turning point, __a fork stuck in the road_  
><em>Time grabs you by the wrist, <em>_directs you where to go_

Arthur's voice came from nearby; Harry hadn't heard him approach.

_So make the best of this test __and don't ask why_  
><em>It's not a question <em>_but a lesson learned in time_

Harry raised his head and looked at Arthur.

_It's something unpredictable_

And Arthur sang back, his brown eyes moist.

_But in the end it's right_

Harry smiled sadly and sang to the Veil, wondering if Sirius could hear him.

_I hope you had the time of your life_

An acoustic guitar took up the slack, singing with unseen violins. Harry had no idea where they came from, but the music was beautiful. As it drew to a close, Arthur put a hand on his shoulder.

_So take the photographs __and still frames in your mind_  
><em>Hang it on a shelf i<em>_n good health and good time_  
><em>Tattoos of memories <em>_and dead skin on trial_

Harry thought of his godfather: his smile, his laugh, his advice and humor. The next line he sang with all his heart.

_For what it's worth, __it was worth all the while_

Arthur smiled and joined his voice with Harry's.

_It's something unpredictable_  
><em>But in the end it's right<em>  
><em>I hope you had the time of your life<em>

The guitar seemed louder this time, but this fact registered only dimly. He closed his eyes and repeated the chorus, letting the words flow over hidden wounds like a balm.

_It's something unpredictable_  
><em>But in the end it's right<em>  
><em>I hope you had the time of your life<em>

_It's something unpredictable_  
><em>But in the end it's right<em>  
><em>I hope you had the time of your life<em>

A loud _crash _made Harry open his eyes. An equally loud _thunk _followed. The Veil billowed, as though someone had brushed against it from behind. Arthur grabbed his arm and pulled him off the dias.

The crashing and banging continued.

"What's going on?" Harry cried.

"I- I don't know- this has never happened before!"

The Veil billowed again. Was it Harry's imagination, or did he glimpse a boot beneath the cloth?

Arthur tugged at his arm. "C'mon, Harry, we should go."

"But-"

"There's no telling what'll happen! For all we know, the Veil is coming for the both of us!"

Arthur gave another tug on Harry's sleeve, then released him as he stumbled backward. Harry fell on his backside and scooted back, eyes wide.

Sirius Black brushed the Veil from his shoulder, dusted off his guitar, and made his way down the steps, grinning from ear to ear. "Well, I wouldn't say it was the time of my _life_, but it sure was a time!"


	5. I'm Too Sexy

_Finally! Here is the next installment of this very odd story! (Do you know how HARD it is to come up with an excuse to have Rodolphus Lestrange sing "I'm Too Sexy"?) _

_And if you're wondering what happened to Sirius….well, I'll explain that in the next chapter. Somehow. I just need the right song. :P_

* * *

><p>The morning of Bellatrix's trial dawned bright and cheery—fitting, Rodolphus mused, with much of the court's mood. Naturally, they couldn't see the sun, cloistered as they were in Courtroom Ten, but given the smiles on a few of their faces, Rodolphus decided a little ray of sunshine resided in each of their hearts. No sooner had he thought that than he had to smile, too. If he thought he would see his wife again, he might use that line on her—just to make her mad.<p>

His heart pounded as armed guards ushered him onto the witness' stand. When he looked at his hands, he saw they were trembling. He stuffed them into his pockets, hoping no sharp-eyed observer had seen. No need to let these gawkers know the very thought of testifying against his wife tied his stomach in knots.

"She'll go to Azkaban," Kingsley Shacklebolt had told him. "You'll help us decide how long."

Rodolphus wanted to tell him to give her life and be done with it, but held his tongue. It was never a good idea to contradict one of the men who kept you out of Azkaban.

Nevertheless, as the trial date approached, Rodolphus had spent the better part of his days working out methods of _avoiding _his testimony. Bellatrix had escaped from Azkaban once. Why should a little thing like the Dark Lord's death stop her from doing it again? He couldn't testify against her; but if he didn't, the consequences could be severe, according to Scrimgeour. But how to testify without testifying?

"Mister Lestrange," Rufus Scrimgeour began, drawing out the name. "You have been called here to testify about the crimes committed by the accused, Bellatrix Lestrange, from the date of her escape to the present time."

Rodolphus felt Bellatrix's dark eyes boring into him as he pointedly avoided her gaze.

"What have you to say, Mister Lestrange?"

Rodolphus ignored the faint note of accusation in Scrimgeour's tone as he looked at the floor, tapping his foot. The words Severus had taught him—the words Draco had helped him practice—flooded his mind. Drawing a breath for strength, Rodolphus raised his head and addressed the court.

_I'm too sexy for my love, too sexy for my love  
>Love's going to leave me<em>

Music poured into the room, and Rodolphus turned on his heel just as Bellatrix protested:

"You are _not _too sexy, Rodolphus, and that is _not _why I left you!" 

_I'm too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt_  
><em>So sexy it hurts<em>

Arthur Weasley stood to his feet. "Mister Lestrange, I feel I _must _object! There are _women _in this courtroom!"

Rodolphus made a turn, fingering his robes seductively, and saw several women cover their mouths in shock, or blush fiercely as they looked away. One or two cheered, and Rodolphus gave his wife a nasty smile.

_And I'm too sexy for Milan, too sexy for Milan, New York and Japan_

"No you're not! You're more than welcome to go there when this trial is over!"

Kingsley Shacklebolt tugged on Scrimgeour's sleeve. "He can't, not without violating his parole."

Scrimgeour sank back down and put his head in his hands. "Why, oh why did we give him parole?"

_And I'm too sexy for your party  
>Too sexy for your party<br>No way I'm disco dancing_

Shacklebolt banged his gavel on the table. "No disco dancing in this courtroom. I'll not have another musical assassination on my hands."

Rodolphus gave a good-natured shrug and strutted down the steps, onto the courtroom floor, where he spread his arms and sang for all he was worth.

_I'm a model, you know what I mean_

Scrimgeour pounded his gavel. "Objection! Mister Lestrange is not a model! Lying under oath! Fifteen years in Azkaban!"

From her chair on the floor, Bellatrix shouted her agreement: "You couldn't be a model if you wanted to!"

Shacklebolt rolled his eyes, pounding his own gavel on the table. "Shut up, both of you."

_And I do my little turn on the catwalk  
>Yeah, on the catwalk, on the catwalk, yeah<br>I do my little turn on the catwalk_

As if to emphasize his point, Rodolphus stopped halfway across the courtroom and turned on his heel, giving an attractive brunette in the fifth row a suggestive wink. She sat back, eyes wide, hands covering her cheeks, and Rodolphus strutted back the way he'd come. 

_I'm too sexy for my car, too sexy for my car_  
><em>Too sexy by far<em>

"We never owned a car, Rodolphus!"

"Aha! Lying under oath again! Fifteen years in—"

Arthur Weasley craned his neck, lifting an eyebrow at Scrimgeour. "Technically, he's not lying. He just said he's too sexy for a car." 

_And I'm too sexy for my hat_  
><em>Too sexy for my hat, what do you think about that<em>

No sooner had he sung the line than a wide-brimmed hat landed at his feet. "You can have my hat, Rodolphus!" a woman in the audience cried. Rodolphus swept it up and tossed it into the air as he sang the chorus again. 

_I'm a model, you know what I mean_  
><em>And I do my little turn on the catwalk<em>  
><em>Yeah, on the catwalk, on the catwalk, yeah<em>  
><em>I shake my little tush on the catwalk<em>  
><em>I'm too sexy for my— too sexy for my— too sexy for my<em>

"Too sexy for your _what, _Mister Lestrange? Care to elaborate? Or shall we jail you for contempt of court?"

Arthur laughed. "Well, obviously, he's so sexy he needn't explain all the things he's too sexy for. That would take all day."

Scrimgeour pressed his lips together. "I still say we jail him. Contempt of court. Ninety days minimum."

"_You_ can jail him," Shacklebolt said. "I won't." He gestured to the stands, where the audience watched with varying degrees of embarrassment. "This is the most attention they've paid to a trial since the First War." 

_'Cause I'm a model, you know what I mean_  
><em>And I do my little turn on the catwalk<em>  
><em>Yeah, on the catwalk, on the catwalk, yeah<em>  
><em>I shake my little tush on the catwalk<em>

As he finished the chorus, a cat appeared. Rodolphus spotted it, then turned away, nose in the air. 

_I'm too sexy for my cat, too sexy for my cat_  
><em>Poor pussy, poor pussy cat<em>

"Oh, lay off it, will you?" Bellatrix shouted. "You always did love Mister Fluffles!"

Ignoring her, Rodolphus pranced to the other end of the courtroom. 

_I'm too sexy for my love, too sexy for my love_  
><em>Love's going to leave me<em>

He opened the doors, pausing long enough to sing the last line: 

_And I'm too sexy for this song_

With that, he slammed the doors closed. Cheers and boos erupted in equal measure from the stands, and it took several dozen bangs from Shacklebolt's gavel to quiet them. When they faded to silence, he was still chuckling.

"Well," he said. "I suppose it _was_ too soon to have him testify against his wife, wouldn't you say, Rufus?"

Scrimgeour's eye twitched.


	6. Come as You Are

_Aaaannnnnd now that I'm finally done with finals, I can continue this strange little story! Hope you enjoy. _

* * *

><p>Harry was too astounded to ask the obvious question straight away. He stared at Sirius for a full minute, slack-jawed, before he slapped himself. When the pain dulled, he was left with the same impossible image, staring him in the face, wearing the biggest grin Harry had ever seen.<p>

As far as questioning went, Arthur was slightly more useful than Harry. He stared and stared, moving his jaw up and down, making gasping noises or feeble attempts at words. Thus far, "You…she….here….mah…muh…." was his most coherent sentence.

Sirius bent down and picked up an oddly shaped black cloth. He shook it out, set it on the floor, and put his guitar inside. Zipping it up, he straightened, slung the guitar case onto his back, and draped each of his arms over Harry's and Arthur's shoulders.

"Let's get out of here, shall we? That Veil is giving me the creeps."

When they were a safe distance from the Ministry, Harry found his voice.

"Sirius, what the hell was that?"

"What the hell was what?"

Sirius was still grinning, the sunlight shining on his dark hair. "Just…walking out of the Veil. I didn't even think that was possible."

"It's not," Arthur chimed in. "They call it the Veil of Death for a reason. Because when you walk into it, you die. Hence, the Veil of _Death_."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious." When Arthur gave him a puzzled look, Sirius laughed. "I met some American Muggles on the other side. Fun blokes. You'd like them."

Harry bit his lip. The thought of Sirius dying, let alone coming back from the dead, made his insides squirm. "But…..Sirius….Dumbledore said there wasn't a spell for raising the dead."

"'Course there isn't."

"So….how are you even here?"

For the first time since exiting the Veil, Sirius' smile fell, and he sighed. "Honestly, I don't know. All I remember is music."

"Music?" Arthur asked.

Sirius nodded. The Ministry was now blocks behind them and they were strolling through London traffic. It seemed to Harry that his godfather had no destination in mind; simply wandering was enough. "It was strange, though. The music. I….I've never heard anything like it."

A wistful smile touched Arthur's lips. "Was it beautiful?"

Sirius laughed. "Merlin, no. It sounded like a werewolf trying to shout over one of those Muggle construction sites." Then, turning thoughtful: "Reminded me of when Peter, James and I got Remus to sing in our band, actually."

"Huh," was all Harry could say.

They walked a few more blocks in silence. Suddenly, Sirius perked up. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"The music! If I didn't know better…." He let his arm slip from Harry's shoulder, and then broke into a run. Harry, not knowing what else to do, ran after him, shouting his name. Sure enough, a block later, oddly familiar music reached his ears.

_Take your time, hurry up  
>The choice is yours<br>Don't be late, take a rest  
>As a friend<br>As an old memoria _

Harry glanced at Arthur, and was relieved to see he heard it too. A look of utter bewilderment had crossed his face—whether from the sound of growling guitars or the singer's growling voice, Harry wasn't sure.

_Come, doused in mud  
>Soaked in bleach<br>As I want you to be_

"What the hell is he talking about?"

"I….I think I know this song!" Harry said.

_As a trend, as a friend  
>As an old memoria<br>Memoria_

Sirius, meanwhile, had shifted into his dog form and was bounding through the crowd. Arthur pushed his way through the growing mass of people.

_And I swear that I don't have a gun  
>No, I don't have a gun<br>No, I don't have a gun_

A girl with dark brown hair glared at Arthur as he pushed past her. "What are these Muggles so excited about, anyhow?"

Harry shook his head as several voices caught his ear: "No, it can't be him."

"Come on, it sounds just like him!"

"No, it doesn't. And even if it did, it couldn't be Kurt. He's dead."

_Memoria, memoria  
>And I swear that I don't have a gun<br>No, I don't have a gun_

The name—the music—the word _gun_—all four seemed to pounce on Harry's mind at once, fighting to jog his memory. He had heard the name before—but where?

_No, I don't have a gun_

Somewhere in the midst of the crowd, Sirius had resumed his human form. As Harry pushed ahead to catch up with his godfather, he glimpsed the singer: a man with stringy blond hair, wearing a red flannel shirt and torn jeans, strumming a guitar as he sang. Harry stopped in his tracks.

_No, I don't have a gun  
>No, I don't have a gun<em>

"I know who he is!"

Arthur had finally fought his way to Harry's side. "Well, who is he? We've made all this fuss, you might as well tell me who he is!"

_Memoria, memoria_

"It—he—he looks like Kurt Cobain."

"Who?"

"Muggle singer," Harry cried as the music ground to a halt. "But it can't be him—he died three years ago!"

"Sirius died two years ago—what's your point?"

Harry was trying to frame a response when the singer who looked like Kurt suddenly grinned. "I was wondering when you'd show up," he said. His accent was American—but that proved nothing. American accents were easy to fake.

"You called me back," Sirius said. "That song—it brought me back."

Kurt-but-probably-not-Kurt laughed and clapped Harry's godfather on the back. "It's been a long time, Sirius. I've missed you."

* * *

><p><em>WHAT? Why is Kurt Cobain suddenly alive? Is it a trick of Voldemort's? Or is it really the father of grunge? How does he know Sirius? Is his music really magic? Why am I asking YOU all these questions? Stay tuned for the ridiculous answers! <em>


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